junk food

In the dark
covered in sweat, stale breath, hairy legs
squeezed and twisted by hands, arms, demands
entitlement is what dashes through my head
i could have gone
but i smiled and played my part
i let me on, him on, us on, and on, and on
and i pretended to be smart
when all my masks
had long slipped off
drained in a drink, a word, a way too much
a way of saying what?
i don´t want this, but i can´t stop
i need illusions, illusions of fusion
of being capable of not caring but always daring
and doing it all, in a mighty wave of lust, of bodily machinery,
biting, battling, licking, sticking, wet, quavery
grabbing into, under skin, sucking and fucking
repeating, repeating what we both know
the poor sick´ning show
of yet another act
meaningless, faceless, careless
and when you wake up
you will crawl back into a you
that would like to pretend that none of this was true
just like a dream-
except for leaving a slimy, sticky, wretched
scene on your skin, on your tongue
and a deeper loneliness
scratched free from the plastic glitter, the stupid admittance
that you are the milk, a sweet, swelling flesh
a junk food substitute for a mummy´s breast
so desperate for attention, so easily led
to any dam bed,
pressed into any stained, rotten cushion
dead as fish but slashed open
for beastly feasts
the expectable conclusion
have me, chew on me, suck off my taste
with your hands, your mouth, in haste, in haste
then spit me back
to where you have never known me
never shown me the hungry eyes,
the man to my feet
the man who means me
the wet and the warm and the will-less woman
whom I now despise